It is late night of the twenty-eighth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary, Igen Weyr

InfirmaryFrom the astringent smell of redwort, to the gleam of counter and cabinet, this place positively defines the concept of antiseptic cleanliness. Despite the yawning exit to the Dragonhealer Courtyard, the floors remain scrupulously swept of sand and particulate matter. Back behind the counter where the healers usually are, are shelves full of bottles and jars, as well as cupboards hiding away more delicate items that shouldn't be exposed to too much sand. Beyond the counter, there is the Desk, where patients are checked in and taken to one of the examination areas by a healer. The windows are usually kept open for the flow of air, but there is both shutters to shut out dust storms, and curtains for other occasions.
Veresch is here.
Obvious exits:
Dragonhealer Yard Inner Caverns

-- On Pern --
It is 11:55 PM where you are.
It is late night of the twenty-eighth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Winter and 26 degrees. It is a clear night.
In Southern:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Summer and 120 degrees. The night is clear and humid.

It's night-time at the Weyr, certainly not so late that everyone is asleep, but late enough that it's after dinner bell and the subsequent feeding frenzy. That doesn't stop Veresch from entering the place and looking around furtively though, a sure sign of a teenager not in the mood to share their particular booboos with anyone but a Healer. "Hello?" she calls softly, taking her scrawny frame forward a step or two.
The lateness of the night might still have folks out and about, but the infirmary is relatively quiet. A single puddle of light encircles the lone healer on duty, originating from the flickering glow of a lantern rather than a glow basket. Piled high in front of her, old tomes are in varying stages of study. Veresch's arrival and subsequent quiet call pulls the healer — a slender blond girl with large blue-green eyes — from where her head was angled downward. Pushing away from the desk, she furrows her brow, the stirrings of concern writ upon her expression, and steps forward, "Good evening." Her voice is quiet, embodying tranquility, whilst expression is held in a half-state of expectance as eyes quickly rove across Veresch, a healer's quick study for pin-pointing potential patients.
Oh, thank goodness, it's a girl. Veresch's expression eases a little at that, and she slips further into the room as easily as a mangy feline in a crowded back alley. There's nothing visibly wrong with her that food won't cure; then, as she shrugs off the heavy jacket the winter calls for and the long-sleeved overshirt beneath, the reason becomes a bit more clear: both her arms are bruised, badly, just above the elbows. They're bands of bruises, as if someone grabbed her really hard, and still red-purple and warm. "I hada little trouble in the Bazaar," she mentions, a little tightly. "I… really don't need them to be seen."
Yukie's head tilts to the side as she watches the girl's approach, hands folded neatly in front of her, fingers laced together. When Veresch takes off her jacket and presents her bruises, the healer-girl's lips press together, but her tone and stance doesn't change: the healer exudes a soft, gentle demeanor. A quiet of the soul. Motioning is combined with a quiet, "Come with me, and we'll get you checked over." The cot to which Veresch is directed to is tucked away behind a privacy curtain, and Yukie's question is posed gently, "Are you hurt anywhere else besides your arms?" As she speaks, she gathers up her listening tube and other healer paraphernalia.
There's a subtle relaxation to Veresch's shoulders as she enters the small, still space behind the curtain. "No," she says at length. "I think I would have done more than try to break his nose if he had tried anything else but grabbing at my arms." She pauses, mouth open to speak, and finally glances sideways. "I really don't know why I let him come that close in the first place. I was just shouting, because he irritates me so, and then he grabbed me and kissed me. So I bit him and ran off." There's still no real fear in her voice, but more than a trace of rage, as if the wounds had been more to her ego than her body.
Yukie listens, her motions purposefully set to be unobtrusive while pressing her hand to the end of the listening tube to warm it up. "The bazaar is a dangerous place," she comments, tone serene but not uncaring. In fact, quite the opposite. "I can put a salve on your arms, but the skin should bleed after I make sure that there's no more damage than bruising. But first, let me get a quick little listen in." A quick sweep of her hand pulls the curtain around them, sealing them in a bubble of soft, off-white. "If you'll allow me…" She gestures with the end of the listening tube, "… by just slipping your shirt down a little, I'll make sure your lungs and heart sound well. Unless you'd rather have a gown?" A sympathetic smile touches on her lips, pulling the concern into the deep pools of her eyes.
Veresch manages a small smile for the shorter girl; she pulls her shirt up without problems and stretches her spine. Despite her length, puberty's still not affected her much, and there's surely another growth spurt due for her, as well as some curves. "I'm okay with listening." She pauses, then sighs. "Um, could I ask a question about… you know. Attraction. Stuff like that." No blushing - she's Weyrfolk - but still a trace of unease. "Because I absolutely hate him, but it also felt weirdly nice."
"Perfect," Yukie murmurs, slipping the listening tube to her ears and leaning in to listen to the girl's heart and lungs. When the younger girl asks her question, the healer's brow raises with her hand paused to the other girl's chest. "You can ask, but I'm afraid I don't know much about attraction or kissing." The apologetic smile tilts gently to Veresch, blue-green eyes limpid. "Love and hate are two sides of the same feeling, I imagine. You cannot have one without the other, but be careful of hatred. Especially, if it's warranted." She pointedly looks at the bruises, which will be getting her attention next.

The girl nods dolefully. "I'm beginning to see that. He's…" Again her mouth opens, but her vocabulary is inadequate to pushing the words out through her throat and into healing air. The cold tube the first time makes her wince, but she sits still through the subsequent listen: she has a healthy heart and no breathing problems, so if anything's there it's not immediately evident. "My mother saw a bit of one of the bruises," she shares, relaxed enough to grin cheekily. "I told her I had joined a tunnelsnake wrestling team, so she stuck me with sweeping out the kitchen courtyard the whole day." No harm emotionally either, apparently. "I've got a knife now though — I'll know what to do if he comes close again, and I'm going to try and avoid him. It's a pity though, his /friend/ is nice. And gorgeous."
Listening to the healthy PomPuf PomPuf PomPuf of Veresch's heartbeat, Yukie is satisfied enough to unloop the Listening Tube from around her neck. At no time is she not listening, but this is the part where she spends some amount of time mixing together a salve for the girl's arms. "Is he?" Some amusement filters in the tranquility pools of her eyes, touching at the corners of her mouth and lifts her eyebrows. "I would suggest warning the guard," she gently urges once the foul-smelling mixture is put together. "No matter how pretty a person's face is, anyone who would do this," some measure of censure can be felt here, but it's quickly gone, smoothed away by the girl's serene demeanor, "should not be around anyone." Pause. "Now, I'll just smooth this on your skin…" The salve.
That's where Veresch lapses guiltily, and she says nothing as she holds out her arms to be smeared with the salve. There's wincing at that, and she squeezes her eyes shut during the process. "He looks almost like a girl, that's how pretty he is. I mean, the friend, not the ass that did this. He has …" It's curiously easy to talk to Yukie, but Veresch clamps her mouth shut on a mumbled "It's not important. Thank you for the salve, ma'am. I appreciate it." Another pause. "Is there … I saw a woman in the market with these marks on her hands, beautiful patterns of dots and lines. She said it was some kind of paste, but… do you think it might be bad for skin? I'd really like to try some out. I don't have… well, you can see. Not really built like a woman."
Yukie's touch is soft as she spreads the salve on the girl's skin, her fingertips barely making contact with the skin, letting only the silky glide of the foul-smelling salve do most of the work. Still, when Veresch winces, so does the healer — as if she takes the other girl's pain into herself. "It would be hard to know for sure without seeing it, but if you brought a sample into the infirmary, then any healer should be able to tell you if it's toxic or not." This is offered as the healer uses a rag to wipe her hands off. "You are built like you," the healer gently corrects, the serene and solemn gaze set upon Veresch with intensity. "And you are a woman, so therefore, you are built like a woman."
That last, that simple explanation, causes Veresch to blink and look up at the girl again. Something about the simple profundity of the words ring in spaces that have been much too confused lately. It's not a quick process, but eventually tears well up and she leans forward to rest her head on Yukie's shoulder. She doesn't sniffle, really, and whilst she doesn't have the kind of complexion to cry gracefully, she does her crying silently. "Thank you," she mutters some time later. "Thank you, that was really very kind of you."
A comforting embrace is something Yukie can certainly offer, the gentle healer offering mind healing as well as physical healing until Veresch is ready to compose herself again. "It is the truth," the young woman's kind words are, in fact, ultimately sincere — a sincerity reflected in the limpid pools of dark blue-green eyes. "Always be unapologetically you, for there's none other." That comes with a smile, before adding, "Keep your arms clean and avoid bruising them further. The salve will aid in healing, but only time will really heal bruises." She presses her lips together, then adds, "And do be careful in the bazaar."
It earns her a grimace, the mention of the bazaar, but Veresch nods as she straightens, tugs her shirt down and scoots sideways to get off the cot. "I'll be more careful, I promise," she states, barely stopping the pinky that wanted to rise and crook at that. "I'd… um, I'd appreciate if you won't tell anyone about this. I wouldn't want you to get into trouble, but if you can keep it quiet I would appreciate it. I've informed the guy that if he does it again he's going to be in more trouble than he wants to be in, and I'll keep my tongue from questioning their customs so much."
"As a healer, it's my duty to hold my patients in confidence," Yukie assures Veresch quietly. Still, she does take a moment, with one hand curled around the fabric of the off-white curtain, to look back to the girl. "But do be careful and if you come in with bruises — or worse — I might have to alert the guard." Despite the concern that does show, Yukie's unflappable calm is woven of serenity and tranquility; an auld soul in youthful body that exudes the comfort and grace of her profession. "Now, you should get back before it gets too late." With the sweep of her hand, the curtain is pushed back and the outside world once again intrudes into the little bubble of privacy they once had.